


the one where blowing people off can be interpreted very, very differently

by whereisthebepis (inlightofvisa)



Series: The McCall-Hale Diaries [32]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, and this is me fulfilling it okay do not even judge, i have a domesticity kink in case you hadn't noticed, i will fight you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlightofvisa/pseuds/whereisthebepis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's back for a weekend. Stiles uses this opportunity to cash in on some much needed time with his boyfriend. Lydia is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one where blowing people off can be interpreted very, very differently

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS HONESTLY A GRAB BAG I AM SORRY
> 
> ETA: NOW WITH PICTURES FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT

Derek is home for a weekend and of course makes it a priority to tell Stiles who promptly shows up at the McCall-Hale residence at the asscrack of dawn, much to Melissa’s chagrin.

“Stiles, I just had a graveyard shift, just please be _quiet_ ,” she says, voice soupy with sleep. Her hair is twangy and looks like a bird’s nest. Stiles figures that it was a tough, long night at the hospital so he gives her a hug.

“Will do, Mel,” he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Now you get a bit of shut-eye, Derek and I will make you some breakfast?”

Melissa gives him the stink-eye which is spiced with a bit of fondness as she ruffles his hair. “You’re too good to this entire family,” she sighs, redoing the sash on her bathrobe and closing the door behind Stiles. “You’re the only one I can count on to keep these hooligans in line.”

“Mom, I’m _right here_ ,” Derek says from the top of the stairs. Stiles looks up gleefully at his boyfriend who is clad only in a wifebeater and a pair of plaid boxers. Melissa flaps at Derek dismissively as she moves towards the couch.

“Make something tasty with Stiles,” she says as she buries her head in a pillow. “Your mother needs sleep.”

Stiles wastes no time in dashing up the stairs, only tripping _once_ , to jump into Derek’s arms and giving him a searing kiss on the mouth.

“I missed you,” he whispers into Derek’s neck. He can feel Derek smile into his hair.

“I missed you too,” Derek replies, running his hands up and down Stiles’ side. “Let’s go make Mom some breakfast, since you basically gave me no choice.” Stiles sticks his tongue out at him as he bounds downstairs.

“I have to give your mom some reason to keep me around,” he stage whispers, waggling his eyebrows. Melissa stirs on the couch as Derek pads on into the kitchen. “I’m thinking eggs, waffles, bacon, and orange juice.” Derek gives a nod of approval, swinging open the refrigerator door.

“We’ll need to go buy bacon,” he says after a few seconds, closing the refrigerator. “I’ll go get some pants on and then we’ll go.” He walks out of the kitchen, Stiles hot on his heels.

* * *

 

 The grocery expedition goes mostly without a hitch, with only one exceedingly domestic argument about the merits of turkey bacon and how it is _too_ a suitable substitute for actual bacon. Which then prompts another small bicker on whether or not to use the self-checkout. Derek wants to use the lane with the actual person because that’s what they’re there for and because “it doesn’t hurt to have interactions with real people, Stiles,” to which Stiles responds with a nip on Derek’s ear just because he can. In the end, Stiles ends up humoring Derek and his desire to go see the poor checkout clerk with just a single pack of turkey bacon. The Real Human Interaction goes uneventfully, and Stiles just levels what he thinks is a fondly exasperated glare on Derek when they’re back in the Jeep.

“Did we really have to go use the checkout lane with the _person_ in it?” he asks again, turning his key in the ignition. Derek rolls his eyes and sighs. “We could’ve had a lovely conversation with the nice guy, but you insisted on not saying anything more than necessary.”

“It’s just something that I think is nice to do,” Derek explains, batting Stiles on the head with the bacon package. “Now shut up and drive.”

“Please,” Stiles says, pulling out of the parking spot. “Please, never ever quote Rihanna at me ever again.”

 

By the time Stiles and Derek make it back to the house, Scott and Laura are up and puttering around in the kitchen. Laura’s already gone through a quarter a pot of coffee while Scott has managed to half-ass a bowl of cereal. How Scott functions on a normal weekday morning is _beyond_ Stiles’ comprehension.

“We’re making breakfast,” Derek says, dropping the packet of bacon on the counter. “Out of the kitchen unless you want to help.”

Scott goes to join Melissa on the couches while Laura cracks open the refrigerator.

“Eggs, waffles, bacon, and OJ?” she asks blearily, grabbing the egg carton. Derek nods while Stiles fires up the stove. Laura manages to retrieve a bowl from the cabinets and scrambles the eggs before handing them off to Stiles, washing her hands, and joining the rest of her family in the living room. Derek’s finished making the waffle batter and has gone through a round on the waffle iron before he bumps his hips with Stiles.

“Hey,” he says quietly, a small smile on his face.

“Hey,” Stiles says, leaning into Derek’s body.

“I missed you,” Derek says, kissing Stiles’ cheek. Stiles wrinkles his nose and grins, fiddling with the eggs in the pan.

“Yeah, yeah, mind the waffles sourpants,” he snips, nudging Derek’s hips in the direction of the iron. “Don’t wanna burn the breakfast.”

“Yeah, like Scott did with the eggs,” Derek snorts, opening the waffle iron and narrowly avoiding a billow of steam. He pries the corner of one of the waffles off the machine before the rest of the thing comes along for the ride. They all end up gracefully on a plate, because Derek is the Master of Things.

Scott and cooking had not ever really been good friends. The whole thing had started on a Mother’s Day when Scott was around three. Derek had been in the middle of making eggs, which Scott had half-successfully cracked open and gotten ready for the stove. Baby Scott must’ve gotten a little overconfident in his budding culinary skills because he’d asked Derek to let him make the eggs because “he was good at it.” Derek had of course refused because he knew it would be a bad idea to let a three year-old cook, but Scott had been rather persistent, and that was how the McCall-Hale house had ended up almost burning to the ground. Which would’ve been an awful Mother’s Day present.

* * *

 

 The rest of the food preparation goes smoothly. There’s a mountain of fluffy, scrambled eggs, waves of curled bacon, a heap of golden waffles, and a pitcher of orange juice on the table before Scott stumbles back into the kitchen.

“Wow, this looks amazing,” he says, still sleepy.

“Go get Mom,” Derek says, setting out plates and napkins. “And Laura. And don’t eat anything until everyone sits down.”

An hour later finds Stiles with a full stomach of delicious breakfast food, and he’s considering inducing a food coma on Derek’s bed.

“Yeah, a nap would be fine,” Derek says, as if he can read Stiles’ mind. Melissa stands up and starts to clear the dishes.

“Thanks for breakfast, boys,” she calls after them as they tromp up the stairs. As soon as they’re in Derek’s room, Stiles toes off his socks and collapses bodily onto Derek’s bed. Derek climbs over him like the lithe bastard he is and they fall asleep side-by-side.

 

Stiles jerks awake to his phone buzzing rather violently, Lydia’s name splashed across the screen.

“H’lo,” he says, voice thick.

“Stiles? Where are you? You told me you were going to meet me Beacon Coffee Beans at least ten minute ago!”

Stiles looks at Derek’s clock and jumps out of bed, pulling on his socks and tripping over Derek’s pants in the process. Derek rolls over and looks at him.

“What’s going on,” he mouths. Stiles points at his cell phone, mimes drinking coffee, and flourishes his hand behind him to try and indicate long hair because that means Lydia. “Lydia?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods vigorously. “You have a coffee date with Lydia.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Stiles says frantically. “I’m at Derek’s.”

“You better not blow me off like last time!” Lydia snaps before hanging up. Stiles is almost out the door before Derek’s arms catch him around the waist.

“You see her every day at school,” he mumbles into Stiles’ ears, breath a hot puff. “C’mon, stay. I mean, _I’m_ not here every day. And I’ll make it worth your while.”

Stiles feels Derek’s fingers move toward his fly and makes a halfhearted effort to bat them away.

“Derek, this is _Lydia_ and I’ll be back before you know it!” he says, slipping out of Derek’s grip. Derek just traps him again and kisses him forcefully on the lips.

“Like I said,” he purrs. “I’m not here every day. You’re not going to see me or get to touch me for at least another month.”

* * *

 

 Lydia purses her lips, tapping her perfectly manicured fingers against the small coffee table she’s perched at. She angrily punches in Stiles’ number again, maybe pressing the “call” button a little too hard. Her phone doesn’t give any protest.

“Stiles? Stiles, where are you.”

“Uh,” Stiles says sheepishly. “I’m still at Derek’s. I… kinda am gonna have to call a raincheck on our coffee?”

“Again?!” Lydia snaps. “Are you _serious_? Stop blowing me off for Derek! And no, before you say otherwise, Derek blowing _you_ off is _not_ the same thing!” She scoffs, running a hand through her hair in irritation. “If you stand me up _one more time_ , I swear I will send you Jackson’s nudes.” She can just hear Stiles shiver through the tinny speakers.

“Okay, okay, okay I won’t, please I will give you my _firstborn child_ to not have to see Jackson’s penis,” Stiles whines.

“Last chance,” Lydia says before pressing the “end” button. Jackson comes over to the table, bearing her latte.

“I heard my name,” he says, setting the coffee cup down on the table and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Lydia raises the cup to her lips to hide a smirk.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” she says, sipping at the coffee. Jackson looks at her uneasily.

“I never trust you when you say that,” he says, visibly unhappy. She pats his hand reassuringly.

“Oh hush,” she says, kissing him on the cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> All artwork by Aidi (indecentdrawer.tumblr.com) and all shitty writing by me (whereisthebepis.tumblr.com)! Come by and join for gays touching and general shittery!


End file.
